


of under me you quite so new

by elanorelle



Category: Glee
Genre: College, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-04
Updated: 2011-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elanorelle/pseuds/elanorelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They haven't exactly been celibate, not by a long shot, but it's been almost two months since the last time they did </i>that<i> and Blaine's been wondering if he'll even remember how should the opportunity arise again. Which apparently it has.</i> College!fic, dorm room sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of under me you quite so new

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for all aired episodes, I guess, but they're very vague and it's futurefic, anyhow. Warnings for implied underage drinking and discussion of barebacking (though not the act itself).
> 
> Kurt's brief foray into French is translated at the end. Title from e. e. cummings.

It's almost eleven when there's a knock at Blaine's door, and so he immediately figures it must be Kurt, because who else would be here at this time of night. But then he remembers the guy three doors down who keeps coming round and asking Blaine and his roommate if they want to buy any weed, and so he approaches the door with caution and checks the peep-hole before he opens it.

Fortunately, it _is_ Kurt, a fact which Blaine barely has time to appreciate before there's another pounding at the door and Kurt's voice saying, far louder than necessary: "Blaine, I know you're in there," dragging out the middle part of Blaine's name in a sing-song sort of way.

Blaine opens the door and manages to get out approximately half a greeting before Kurt's mouth on his renders the rest of it unintelligible. Kurt tastes very strongly of peppermint, like he's been chewing gum or – more likely, in Kurt's case – has just brushed his teeth, but it can't quite mask the fact that he's obviously been drinking. Which, you know, is not exactly surprising considering where he's just been, but the looseness of his limbs and the way he's swaying _just_ a little bit in Blaine's arms seems to suggest that he might actually be _drunk_ , which _is_ something of a surprise.

"Well, hello," Blaine says when the kiss finally ends. "I'm glad to see you, too." He lets go of the door so that it swings shut again, and wraps both his arms around Kurt.

Kurt sighs and tucks his head in between Blaine's neck and shoulder. "Blaine Warbler," he says, breathing the words out against Blaine's skin. "There you are. I've been looking for you forever." And yeah, okay, he's _definitely_ had a few.

"Forever, huh? What, did you get lost or something?" Blaine says, teasing.

Kurt pouts, looking up at him. "You're so unromantic," he says.

"And you're drunk, baby," Blaine says, holding Kurt a little tighter.

"Un peu," Kurt says, contentedly, nuzzling up under Blaine's jaw, and randomly slipping into French is another good indicator that Kurt is less than sober. "Seulement un petit peu. C'est bien."

"It's early," Blaine points out. "How come you're not still at the party?"

"Wanted to come see you instead," Kurt says, and then, with a giggle: "Have our own party," which is the kind of thing Blaine usually comes out with when he's drunk and then gets an eyeroll for his trouble.

"So, this is a booty call, essentially?" Blaine asks, amused.

Kurt makes a face, lifting his head to look Blaine in the eye. "Can it really be described as a booty call if the person you visit is your boyfriend of eighteen months who you were fully intending to spend the night with, anyway?"

"I guess maybe not," Blaine concedes. Suddenly he has a thought: "What about Rachel? You didn't leave her by herself, did you?"

"No, of course not," Kurt says, sounding unimpressed by the suggestion. "She's with Jamie and Melody. Plus, Adam was there, too, so he can walk her back to their dorm after."

Blaine frowns. "Adam?" he says. "I didn't know he was going to be around."

"Oh, baby," Kurt coos, bringing one hand up to rub at the back of Blaine's neck. "You're so cute when you're jealous."

"I'm not jealous," Blaine insists. He's really not, because jealousy seems to also imply irrationality, and Blaine's feelings on this matter are perfectly, perfectly rational, thank you very much. "It's just that Adam has a huge thing for you and I don't trust him not to try something when you're like this." Kurt is often just so when he's drunk, all soft and pliant and delightful, which is _fine_ when it's around Blaine because Blaine loves him and would never dream of taking advantage (well, no more than Kurt will let him, anyway), but the same can't be said for someone like Adam, whose intentions are clearly evil.

"I think he might have been serenading me, actually," Kurt says, looking up at the ceiling as he considers the possibility.

Blaine scowls. "Are you serious?"

"Well, they were doing some karaoke right before I left, and he seemed to stare at me a lot during his song, so ..."

"And what song was this?" Blaine asks darkly.

"'Girlfriend' by Avril Lavigne."

"Oh my god, are you _kidding me_? Who the hell does he think he is, god—"

"Blaine, come on, don't be like that," Kurt says, soothingly. "It's just a crush, he'll get over it. Unless ... I mean, you're not worried about _me_ , are you?"

Kurt sounds like he's teasing, but there's just a tiny shred of real concern in there that Blaine wants to banish immediately, so he shakes his head firmly and says: "No. God, no, of course not."

"Good," Kurt says, happily. "Because it wouldn't have mattered what he sang, nothing could have changed the fact that I spent every minute I was at that party wishing you were there as well."

"Oh yeah?" Blaine says, letting his face relax back into a smile. "And what would you have done if I had been there?"

"Kissed you," Kurt says, promptly. " _A lot_. I would have kissed you a lot."

"A lot, huh?" Blaine says, tilting his head up encouragingly. "How would that have gone?"

Kurt makes a noise as if he's considering his answer. Then he grins, the slant of it just shy of totally wicked, and says: "Like this."

It's not that Kurt's necessarily a _better_ kisser when he's drunk, it's just that he doesn't seem to _think_ so much about it and so everything tends to be a lot less ... controlled. It's more like the way he kisses when they're in the middle of sex, all open-mouthed and wet and slightly desperate, as if there is something quite essential that must be drawn from Blaine's mouth into his own and if they stop kissing for even one second it will be irrevocably lost.

They do eventually stop, of course, but not before Blaine is out of breath and a little dizzy, swaying gently with Kurt so that if anyone else could see them, they'd assume both of them were as drunk as each other.

"Is that all you would have done?" Blaine asks, his hand slipping down to hook into Kurt's waistband. "Just kissed me?"

Kurt hums again thoughtfully, his fingers stroking lightly through the hair at the back of Blaine's neck.

"At the party, yes," he says. "Because exhibitionism is _really_ not my thing. But then we would have left early and come back here and done all the other things I have planned."

Blaine licks his lips, swallows with some difficulty. "It's a shame I wasn't there, then," he says.

Kurt shrugs. "It's okay," he says. "We're still going to do it all anyway. Like I said, I have _plans_."

"Oh?" Blaine says, mouth very dry.

"Mmhm, I was going to text you about them, but I thought you might not appreciate that in the middle of dinner with your dad."

"That was thoughtful of you."

"How was it, anyway?" Kurt says, though he seems much more interested in kissing Blaine's neck than he does in hearing Blaine's answer. "Dinner, I mean."

Blaine sighs. Of all the things he doesn't really want to talk about right now, his father is pretty much at the top of the list. "It was fine," he says, and then decides he needs to vent a little bit, at least. "The usual. I mentioned that economics class I might take in the spring, he took that to mean I was thinking about majoring in Business, I told him that wasn't the case and we got into it for an hour and a half on why I don't want to work on Wall Street."

Kurt makes a sympathetic noise, kisses Blaine right at the point where his jawline meets his ear, says: "I'm sorry, honey."

"It's okay," Blaine says. "We talked about other stuff, too; I showed him those pictures from when we went to Coney Island. He agrees with me about that hat making you look like Peter Pan, by the way."

"Well, at least now we know where you get your delusions from," Kurt says amiably, kissing Blaine at the corner of his mouth, this time.

Blaine is definitely ready to _not_ be talking about his dad anymore, so he presses his forehead up against Kurt's and says: "These plans of yours, then. You want to tell me about them?"

Kurt smiles, Blaine can feel it even if he can't see it when they're this close. "Like you don't already know," he says, and Blaine really wishes that he did, because from the tone of Kurt's voice alone it sounds like it's going to be _awesome_.

"I really don't, Kurt," Blaine says. "I mean, I have a general idea, but if there's something particular you have in mind then you're going to have to be more specific."

"Blaine," Kurt says, reproachfully, like he can't believe Blaine isn't on the same page. "You're going to fuck me, of course."

Blaine blinks, turned on and hopelessly confused in almost equal amounts. "I— I am?"

Kurt nods, pulling his head back so that he and Blaine can actually look at each other properly. "Yes," he says. "You are. We talked about this, remember?"

"We did?" Blaine likes to think he would remember a conversation like that. He likes to think it would be etched permanently onto his brain for all time, but apparently not.

Kurt frowns, ever so slightly. "Yes. A while ago: we said the next time one of us had an absent roommate we'd take advantage of it. You know, the way we totally failed to do when I had a room all to myself for more than a week at the beginning of the semester, because _someone_ had to go and get the 'flu."

Blaine frowns back at him. "Your concern for my well-being is always so touching."

"Oh, hush," Kurt says dismissively. "I was plenty concerned at the time – I brought you soup, didn't I? And cuddled you through most of it, at great personal risk to myself."

Blaine rolls his eyes. "You didn't even get sick, Kurt," he says. He's still not sure how that happened, actually, Kurt spending so much time stuck in the same room as Blaine coughing and sweating and leaving gross tissues all over the place and yet not getting so much as a sniffle himself. Whatever his methods, they hadn't helped Blaine much, and so of the week and a half it had taken the housing people to replace Kurt's no-show roommate, they'd spent most of that time with Blaine feeling like shit in the spare bed and definitely not having any of the fabulous sex a room of their own would have made possible.

In fact, that haven't gone so far as to have _sex_ in the fullest sense of the word since August, which – after a summer spent trying their very best to do it as many times as they possibly could – has proven mildly frustrating, to say the very least.

Since they got here, though, as well as the inconvenience of roommates, they've had class schedules and social lives and the thrill of the city itself to contend with (as well as Blaine's traitorous immune system) and it's proven all but impossible to find the time and space they'd both prefer when it comes to actually fucking. So while they haven't exactly been celibate, not by a long shot, it's been almost two months since the last time they did _that_ and Blaine's been wondering if he'll even remember how should the opportunity arise again. Which apparently it has.

Kurt looks disgruntled when he says: "You really don't remember?"

Blaine does, now that he thinks about it: several weeks ago when Ren, Kurt's newly appointed roommate, had walked in on them for the third time in four days – just kissing, mind, but still, the guy was turning into almost as big a cockblock as Kurt's dad had once been, and that was saying a lot.

He'd headed out of the room again for dinner a little while later, leaving Kurt and Blaine to make a determined pact that, as soon as one or the other of them had their room to themselves for more than a day, they'd have the kind of sex they hadn't had since that last night in Blaine's bedroom back in Lima, a couple of days before they'd finally made their long separate ways up to New York.

What had started as a fairly abstract discussion about future events had quite quickly turned into them describing in minute detail what, exactly, they wanted to do to each other when such an opportunity arose, while trying to get off fast enough that they'd be done by the time Ren came back.

They managed it, thankfully, and then they'd cleaned themselves up, straightened the bedclothes and gone out for pizza with Rachel. It hadn't been a bad night, all things considered, but they'd both agreed it would have been better without any interruptions.

"No, I remember," Blaine says with a nod, gratified by the way Kurt's expression brightens.

"So, now's our chance," Kurt says eagerly. "Or haven't you noticed the fact that your roommate is gone and won't be back until tomorrow evening?"

"No, I know, but," Blaine says, and he hates himself for what he's about to say but he'll only hate himself more if he _doesn't_ say it. "Kurt, you're _drunk_."

"So?"

"So, I don't think we should, not after you've been drinking. It wouldn't feel right."

Kurt is looking at him with disbelief so exaggerated it's almost comical. "Blaine Anderson, please say that you are _kidding_ me right now."

Blaine shakes his head.

"But," Kurt starts, just the hint of a whine creeping into his voice. "I only _drank_ anything in the first place because I thought we were going to do _this_ later."

Blaine feels slightly sick. "If you need to get drunk before you want me to fuck you, Kurt, I think there's something wrong, here—"

Kurt's eyes widen in alarm. "No, nononono," he says, shaking his head and grabbing at Blaine's t-shirt with both hands. "No, not like that, Blaine, I swear not like that, don't be absurd." Blaine's nausea subsides but he still feels uneasy. Then Kurt continues: "It's just— I've been thinking about it for a while, and then when Andy went away for the weekend I thought, you know, _tonight_ , and it was all I _could_ think about at that stupid party; I wasn't even able to hold a conversation for the first ten minutes I was there. Drinking was the only thing I could think to do to distract myself from imagining exactly what it was going to feel like to have you inside of me again, and I—" he takes in a breath, long and shaking, before he carries on, "I swear but for the vodka I would have had to have gone and jerked off in the bathroom or something, _god_."

"Jesus, Kurt," Blaine murmurs, and he's _fairly_ certain that no one in the history of the world has ever gotten hard as quickly as he just did. It's actually a little painful.

Obviously Kurt can feel it, there's no way he _can't_ with them standing this close, and he shifts position slightly so that his own arousal becomes more obvious. His hands slip up Blaine's shoulders and neck, into his hair and he _pulls_ , just a little, just the tiniest little bit, but it's enough to make Blaine shiver.

"Blaine," Kurt says on a heavy, deep sigh, bending his head to touch against Blaine's. "I really want you to fuck me, okay? I am so not drunk enough to be unclear about that." He's very close, and his mouth looks very wide and wet, and Blaine wants very badly to kiss him. He doesn't though, because if he does that this conversation will effectively be over and Blaine still thinks they have something to talk about.

"Kurt," he says instead. Apparently that's all he has to say, though, and they stand there for a few seconds just breathing each other's air, so close they could be kissing but they're _not_ and there's a reason for that and eventually Blaine has to pull back so he can get some space between them.

Kurt's hands slip out of Blaine's hair and come to rest on his shoulders instead. He looks at Blaine with confusion, holding his lower lip between his teeth and that is not helping in the least. He says: "Is it— is it that you really don't want to? Is this me ... god, am I _pressuring_ you? Because if you actually don't want to, Blaine, whatever the reason, then you can just _tell_ me and we can ... do something else instead, or cuddle or go to sleep or whatever, we don't have to, I don't want you to think we have to—"

Blaine kisses Kurt to silence him, but just for a second, close-mouthed, and then he pulls back again. "I don't think that," he says, quietly. "And I do want to, it's just ..."

"It's just what, Blaine?" Kurt asks when Blaine doesn't finish that sentence.

Blaine sighs. "Not when you're drunk, Kurt. I want to be with you like that, of course I do, I just don't think ... we shouldn't do it again for the first time in months when you're drunk."

Kurt groans in frustration, sudden and too loud. "Oh my god, I'm really not that drunk, Blaine, I promise," he insists. "Come on, ask me anything. Ask me to sing the alphabet backwards or walk in a straight line or stand on one leg or something."

Blaine thinks about this for a moment: it's difficult, when there is absolutely no blood left to circulate round his brain and make that sort of thing happen. In the end, what he comes up with is: "Name all the colours in Joseph's Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat."

Kurt looks at him incredulously. "Is that supposed to be _hard_?"

Blaine resists commenting on things that are supposed to be hard, right now, and says: "Come on, I'll start you off. It was red and yellow and green and brown ..."

Kurt gives Blaine his best _you're a moron_ glare, but joins in anyway, and though Blaine decides he's heard enough by the time they get to _azure and lemon and russet and grey_ , Kurt shushes him and carries on all the way through to the end.

"... and blue!" he finishes, with a little flourish. "See? Not that drunk," he says, and then hiccups, which rather spoils it.

Still, it seems like he might not be as drunk as Blaine had first thought, which is good: it means this probably won't turn out the same way as Blaine's graduation party over the summer, when Kurt had gotten quietly wasted on champagne and then dragged Blaine upstairs to give him a celebratory blow job while several dozen members of Blaine's family and friends of his parents had been eating cake and making small talk out on the back patio.

Which, you know, would have been fine – Blaine's room had a door that locked and everything, and the party could certainly have done with some livening up – except Kurt was basically unable to stand upright by that point, let alone perform oral sex with any success, and so the whole thing had ended with Blaine cuddling him while he cried about how terribly disappointed Blaine must be to have a boyfriend who couldn't even give him a decent blow job. Blaine had tried pointing out that his own previous experience in the matter led him to think very much to the contrary, but Kurt had been so inconsolable and so embarrassed by the whole thing that even after he'd sobered up he and Blaine hadn't done anything remotely sexual for almost a week.

So yeah, Blaine isn't really looking for a repeat of _that_ any time soon. Especially not for actual _sex_ , which has so much more potential to be awkward and uncomfortable and it would be _so much worse_ , Blaine thinks, than a failed blow job. Blaine might actually never get to have sex again for the rest of his natural life, if they screw this up.

Kurt remembered all the colours, though, and he's only swaying a tiny little bit in Blaine's arms, and Blaine is turned on and in love and he doesn't need a hell of a lot more convincing than that.

"Okay," Blaine says, edging in closer again and kissing Kurt like he wanted to before, pressing in with his tongue, feeling Kurt shiver and whimper and kiss him back.

"Okay?" Kurt says when they break apart, uncertainly, but looking hopeful.

"Okay, you're not so drunk," Blaine says, and the next part he murmurs up against Kurt's lips again. "And okay, I'm gonna fuck you."

Kurt kisses him again – open-mouthed, hot and insistent, and he doesn't taste much like peppermint anymore – before he frees himself from Blaine's arms enough to actually _jump up and down_ and clap his hands together in delight, because of course Kurt is still _Kurt_ , even when he's tipsy and about to get laid.

Before Blaine can help speed that process along any, though, Kurt walks over briskly to the bed and sits down, putting his arms behind to prop himself up. He looks up at Blaine, his eyes bright and dark together if that's even possible, and says, imperiously: "Now, you may undress me."

Blaine grins. Intoxication, however slight, makes Kurt kind of shameless, not to mention lazy. Blaine doesn't mind, though. He has sort of a thing for taking Kurt's clothes off, which is no doubt the reason Kurt is asking him to do it now. He walks over and kneels down in between Kurt's legs, pulls him into a quick kiss and then says: "Gladly."

He starts with Kurt's jacket, because that looks easy enough to remove, but then it turns out that the buttons he assumed were functional are in fact strictly decorative and it takes him a while to find the hidden zip that will let him open the damn thing and pull it off Kurt's shoulders.

Underneath, Kurt is wearing a cardigan with buttons that actually _work_ and then, beneath that, a fitted top that – miracle of miracles! - just pulls neatly over Kurt's head to leave him quite spectacularly bare-chested in front of Blaine, who sits back on his heels for a second to admire the sight before he starts the Herculean task of removing Kurt's boots.

By this point, Kurt is jittery and impatient, pawing at Blaine's own clothes without making any concerted effort at removing them. "God, come on, this is taking _forever_ ," he whines.

"Well, if you insist on wearing clothing this complicated," Blaine says, finally unlacing Kurt's second boot enough to pull it off of his foot. "You'll just have to wait for me to figure out how to take it all off of you."

Kurt narrows his eyes. "Don't even pretend like you don't love it."

"I'm not pretending anything." Blaine moves closer into the vee of Kurt's legs, pressing his mouth up against the skin of Kurt's stomach, just above the button on his jeans. "You're the one complaining that it's taking too long."

"Well, it is," Kurt says, still trying to sound annoyed but it's hardly convincing with his voice gone all breathy and strained like that.

"Says you," Blaine murmurs against the jut of Kurt's hipbone, letting his fingers brush just lightly over Kurt's zipper but not actually going so far as to unzip it. "I could happily make this last all night."

He rubs his hand more fully over the the swell of Kurt's erection, and Kurt hisses almost like he's in pain. Considering how tight his pants are, it's possible he actually is, and Blaine decides to take pity.

It takes both of them to work Kurt's jeans down off his hips (seriously, Blaine has no idea how he even gets into these things, they look like they were spray painted on) and then Blaine has to sort of pull them from the ankle in order to get them to slither down Kurt's legs and _off_ , at last, along with his socks, so that then he's finally left in nothing but his boxer briefs, the material of which is doing very little to hide how turned on he is. Blaine can see the head of his dick just visible above the waistband, and there's already a darker spot of fabric that's wet to the touch, and Blaine is suddenly dizzy with how much he _wants_ and how much he gets to have, and he can't resist the urge he has to lean forward and mouth at Kurt through his underwear.

"Fuck, Blaine," Kurt gasps, like the words have been punched out of him, and his hands scrabble at Blaine's back before one of them grips tightly in his hair and _holds_ him there, so that Blaine can't do anything but just breathe him in, the heady, masculine scent of him, and feel how hard he is up against Blaine's cheek, and think to himself for one brief, thrilling moment how positively, undeniably _gay_ this makes him, so much so that he might laugh with the joy of it, if he weren't also feeling so desperate he thinks it might end up coming out slightly hysterical.

After a couple more seconds, he works his fingers in under Kurt's waistband, tugging until Kurt gets the idea and lifts his legs so that Blaine can pull the boxer briefs all the way off, and then Kurt is wonderfully, gloriously naked and Blaine does kind of regret taking so long to get this far, in retrospect.

"Now you," Kurt says, breathlessly, grabbing at Blaine's clothes again but this time with purpose. "Take it off, take it all off, want to _see_ you already."

Blaine's clothing presents far less of a challenge than Kurt's: Blaine pulls his t-shirt over his head and throws it to one side, and then he stands up so that he can remove his jeans and underwear. They're barely past mid-thigh before Kurt puts his hands on Blaine's ass and drags him closer so that he can take Blaine's cock into his mouth without so much as a by-your-leave.

Which, you know, Blaine would never complain about a thing like that because Blaine is not an _idiot_ , but still, he kind of was not expecting Kurt's mouth on him just then, and he is ridiculously hard and liable to come embarrassingly quickly if Kurt carries on like this, so he puts one hand on Kurt's head and one on Kurt's shoulder and strokes there gently, saying: "Kurt, baby, you've got to stop or this is going to be over before it's even begun."

Kurt makes a low, throaty noise Blaine assumes is of protest and sinks his mouth a little further down, and Blaine _cannot believe_ he has to put a stop to this, but it's a necessary evil if Kurt actually wants Blaine to fuck him any time soon.

"Kurt," he says insistently, gripping at Kurt's shoulder more firmly, pushing just slightly so that Kurt gets the hint and pulls off with a slick _pop_ that sounds way louder than it should in the silent room. Kurt looks up at Blaine through his lashes, kisses the very tip of Blaine's dick, feather-light, and then swing his legs up on the bed and lies back in a loose, easy sprawl.

In his bid to be similarly horizontal, Blaine practically trips over his jeans, now pooling around his ankles, and Kurt laughs, all quiet affection. There is something shockingly intimate about laughing in a state of undress with one's boyfriend, Blaine has found. It requires a level of comfort, an easiness together that Blaine thinks most couples probably take a while to find, if they ever do, but which he and Kurt seem to have had from the start, and which he hopes they never lose.

He lies down on top of Kurt on the bed, laces their fingers together and presses their joined hands into the mattress above Kurt's head, says: "Hi," with a grin before kissing Kurt slow and easy and soft.

Kurt sighs when they part, offers a quiet, "Hello," in response and then shifts underneath Blaine until he gets his legs out to bracket either side of Blaine's hips.

Blaine's breath hitches and his stomach pulls tight at the way they're pressed flush, rubbing up against one another hard and wanting, and if blow jobs are a bad idea then grinding together like this definitely, _definitely_ is, because at the moment Blaine feels like he could come if Kurt so much as _looks_ at him the right way. So if they're doing this (and they are, they just have to, it's been so long and Blaine wants it _so much_ ) then they have to get on with it.

Fortunately, Kurt seems to have the same idea, because he's pulling his left hand away from Blaine's grip and reaching, fumbling for the drawer on the nightstand, and after a couple of seconds of awkward rummaging he comes back with the bottle of lube, pressing it into Blaine's hand, saying: "C'mon, c'mon," in one short little exhaled breath.

Blaine shifts, slides down the bed until he's settled in between Kurt's legs and in a position to press his fingers slick up behind Kurt's balls, against the place where his body will yield and open to Blaine's touch, where Blaine can push and press and be _inside_ , first with fingers and then (then then _then_ ) with his cock.

But he's not quite there, yet, and it's been a while since he's even been _here_ , and just for a moment Blaine really does feel like he has no idea what to do. He's been slightly ... over-generous with the lube, which doesn't help, everything too slippery like it had been the very first time, the sheets damp and Kurt's skin glistening with it, and Blaine's fingers feel clumsy and unskilled at something he usually likes to think he's gotten rather good at. Kurt tells him so, at least, and Blaine tends to defer to Kurt's opinion in these matters.

But then he presses _in_ and Kurt moans when he does it, shuddering low and deep, and Blaine thinks, _oh yes, of course, like that_ , and everything suddenly seems to fall into place.

He goes slowly at first, anyway, just using one finger until he's absolutely certain he can fit in a second without too much difficulty, and he only makes it three when Kurt rolls his hips up and _insists_ , with some vehemence, that he is quite able to take it, and so unless Blaine is actually a _complete fucking tease_ (which Kurt is starting to think that he is), he might want to get on with it, please and thank you.

Well, minus the please and thank you parts, anyway. Kurt tends to be a great deal less polite mid-coitus than he is the rest of the time.

"I'm sorry," Blaine says, three fingers pushing in now, and it's more of a strain where the muscle isn't quite stretched enough but Kurt is still moving his hips and he's still completely hard, so Blaine's not particularly concerned.

"You're so not sorry," Kurt says, shakily but with conviction.

"Well, yeah, okay, not especially," Blaine admits. Then, up against the skin stretching over Kurt's hipbone: "But only because you're really hot like this."

" _Blaine_ ," Kurt says, and Blaine would like to know if there is anyone else at all in the world who can utter a person's name with that much need and want and love while at the same time sounding as if they'd like to punch the person repeatedly in the head. Blaine thinks probably not.

"Love you all spread out for me," Blaine says, pressing in deep with two fingers again, finally managing to hit the spot he's looking for, if the way Kurt gasps and arches upward off the bed is anything to go by (Kurt's much better at that particular trick, with his longer fingers, but never let it be said that Blaine doesn't make the best of what he's got). Blaine strokes hard against it for a few seconds before the stretch in his hand becomes too much, then he pulls out and pushes back in with three instead and it's so, _so_ much easier now, all slick and smooth and Kurt is moving, too, pushing back against Blaine's hand, lifting his hips as though they're already fucking.

They aren't, of course, though Blaine thinks they probably should be, and just as he's opening his mouth to ask Kurt if he's ready, Kurt says: "Blaine, if you don't fuck me now, I am _breaking up with you_ , I swear to _god_ ," so that sort of answers that question.

Blaine lets his fingers slide out, and Kurt whimpers at the loss, looking so bereft that Blaine is compelled to move in and kiss him in consolation. Kurt's clearly impatient, though, whining against Blaine's mouth and yeah, okay, Blaine's not entirely sure why he's still dragging this out, either.

He reaches to the nightstand for a condom (out of the pack that's been sitting there hopefully since early September), sitting back on his heels in between Kurt's legs to rip open the foil. Kurt stares at it thoughtfully and says: "I don't see why we have to use one of those."

Blaine just looks at him. "Do we need to pick you up some more pamphlets?" he asks, only half joking.

Kurt narrows his eyes. "No, thank you," he says tartly. Then his gaze softens and he adds: "What I mean is, I don't see why _we_ have to use one."

"Kurt, what—"

"I'm saying ... you've never been with anyone else, _I've_ never been with anyone else. We aren't _planning_ on being with anyone else in the near ... ever. Why can't we just—"

"Kurt, no," Blaine says, trying not to let himself get caught up on the way Kurt had said 'ever,' there like he really meant 'forever.' "This is not a conversation we should be having when either one of us is drunk."

"But I'm not even—"

"It doesn't matter if you're only just a little bit, Kurt, that's a big conversation and we are not having it now."

Kurt huffs out a sigh. "I don't see _why_ it has to be, I mean. We're both clean—"

"That's not the only thing to consider, and you know it, and you'll care about it tomorrow, which is when we will have this conversation, okay? When we're both completely sober and awake and not five seconds away from doing the very thing we need to talk about."

Blaine saying that seems to remind Kurt how close to fucking they actually are, and he sighs like he knows he's been beat. Then he wets his lips, spreads his legs a little wider, says: "Fine, yes, tomorrow. Just— I want you inside me, now, please."

It's not ... he's not _strictly_ begging, not really, but it's still sort of, _technically_ , and the way his voice cracks slightly on the last word is just—

Blaine's hands are shaking so badly it takes him a second to get the condom on properly, and when he's finally done and he looks back up, Kurt has the first two fingers of his right hand inside himself, not really thrusting but just flexing, back and forth, the steady rhythm of it enough to make Blaine want to just sit back and let this happen instead, because watching Kurt Hummel touch himself is like a fucking (no pun intended) religious experience.

But they're both too far-gone to change course like that now, and it isn't what Kurt wants, anyway, and before too long Kurt is glaring daggers at him and saying: "Oh my god, Blaine, seriously, just do it already, _fuck_ , what is it going to take to get you to just—"

Blaine kisses him before he can finish, kisses him and _kisses_ him and grabs at Kurt's legs to push them further up around his waist, and then he's reaching down to pull Kurt's fingers free and replace them with ... well, with _him_ , with Blaine, one long, slow press in and it feels endless, endless, like he could just keep going and going until he was inside, all the way inside, every part of him, not just this part, this part that is only flesh and blood but all the parts that matter all the parts that love Kurt love him _love him_ and Blaine would never ever leave if he could get that close, if Kurt could take him in that far, and oh _god_ if only he could—

"Blaine, Blaine," Kurt is saying, "Baby, shh, it's okay, it's all right, shh, calm down." And oh, okay, Blaine apparently said some of that out loud at least, and Kurt is petting his shoulders and hushing him against his temple, and it seems like maybe Blaine lost his head there for a minute. It wouldn't be the first time.

"All right?" Kurt asks softly, once Blaine has stopped shaking quite so much.

"Yeah. Sorry, I just ... you feel really good," Blaine says, feebly.

Kurt laughs, really laughs, and Blaine can feel it in the way Kurt's body tightens around him, makes him gasp. "Yeah," Kurt says, his voice bright and warm. "Not to be immodest, but that much seemed obvious."

Blaine kisses him, smiling, feels himself return to some sort of equilibrium. "I love you," he says against Kurt's lips, because it is true and for no other reason than that.

"I love you," Kurt says back, soft on a breath. Then he hitches his legs up a little higher and adds, a lot less sweetly: "Now get on with it, before I change my mind on the subject."

Blaine, still smiling, still feeling Kurt's laughter and his love and the warmth of him everywhere, through every exposed part of him, says: "Yes, dear," with a laugh of his own before he takes one long, deep breath and starts to move.

It's not that he doesn't remember this – of course he does, how on earth could he ever forget? – but remembering how it feels and actually _feeling_ it are two different things entirely, and to start with it's almost overwhelming: the flex and stretch of Kurt's body around him and under him, Kurt arching up into it and _god_ , how hot he is, how tight.

For a while, Blaine tries to focus on everywhere Kurt's touching him – his dick rubbing up hard against Blaine's stomach, his legs squeezing around Blaine's hips, both his hands on Blaine's back digging in with his nails (that's going to leave a mark, Blaine thinks, somewhat hopefully) – but in the end it's impossible to keep it all together and all of Blaine's awareness is reduced solely to that slick, heavy slide on his cock that drags him in, and in, and again, _in_ , until he can barely stand it.

At one point, when Blaine tries a slightly different (and obviously more effective) angle, Kurt moans and says, rather loudly: " _Fuck_ , yeah, right there," and Blaine spares a brief thought for the unfortunate thinness of his walls. If they're in, the guys next door are probably getting an earful but Blaine's pretty sure he had to listen to one of them getting _spanked_ by his girlfriend the other night so Blaine actually _doesn't care_ if they can hear this, except he guards somewhat jealously Kurt's ragged breaths and his shocked little gasps of _Blaine, Blaine, Blaine_ as they move together, and he hopes at least _they're_ not quite making it through the wall.

He kisses Kurt to quiet him, in any case (if you can really call something this sloppy and uncoordinated kissing) which proves enough of a distraction that Blaine barely even registers how close he is to coming until Kurt does it first – untouched, his own hands still gripping tight to Blaine's shoulders, Blaine's flexing uselessly in the sheets – and then there's no earthly way Blaine can do anything but follow suit.

"Love you," Kurt says again, breathlessly, right before it happens.

Blaine can hardly even say it back, the words just stick in his throat, and he ends up nodding a little desperately and mumbling: "So much, _Kurt_ ," before he loses his head for the second time tonight and shudders and shakes and _comes_.

Kurt kisses him again afterwards, properly this time; his arms and legs are still wrapped around Blaine pretty tightly, but then Blaine flexes his hips, just the tiniest amount, and Kurt winces, breathing in sharply between his teeth. "Okay, too much, now," he says in a small, shaky voice, and Blaine takes that as his cue to ease himself out.

Neither of them particularly wants to leave the bed to go and get a washcloth, so they clean themselves up as best they can with a wad of tissues, in which Blaine (much to Kurt's disgust) then wraps up the used condom for later disposal (the trash can is all the way on the other side of the room, after all). Eventually, one of them should probably go and turn the light off, but for now they stay where they are, close and warm and quiet together. Kurt's skin is flushed and damp against Blaine's, and his heart is beating fast and fluttersoft underneath Blaine's cheek, and it's possible, just possible, that there has never been a more perfect moment in Blaine's life than this one.

Then Kurt pinches him hard on the arm, which effectively ruins it.

Blaine lifts his head from Kurt's chest and frowns at him. "Hey, what—?"

"And _you_ didn't want for us to do that. Honestly, Blaine, sometimes I have no idea what's going on in that head of yours."

"I didn't want us _not_ to do it, Kurt," Blaine protests. "I just didn't want us to do it if you were so drunk that you might have regretted it in the morning."

Kurt huffs irritably. "Yeah, because having amazing sex with my boyfriend is something I'm definitely likely to regret."

Blaine tries not to grin too widely at the compliment, because then Kurt will probably find some way to ruin that as well, and says instead: "There's a first time for everything."

"Mm," Kurt hums, letting his head loll back against the pillow, his eyes fluttering closed. Then he says, quite matter-of-fact: "For example, this was the first time you fucked me in New York City."

Blaine does let himself grin properly, then, and presses a kiss to the centre of Kurt's chest. "That's true," he says. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

"And then maybe tomorrow it'll be the first time _I_ fuck _you_ in New York City," Kurt adds breezily, like he didn't just cause the bottom of Blaine's stomach to drop out.

Blaine wets his lips and presses up a little closer against Kurt. "You don't want to do that now?" he asks, hopefully, but Kurt just hums again and shakes his head.

"There is a very good chance I would fall asleep in the middle if we tried it," he says, sounding halfway gone already. "That's _definitely_ something I'd regret."

It's a good point, well-made, and yet Blaine can't help but be pretty disappointed. "Okay," he says, glumly. "Tomorrow, though. I'm going to hold you to that."

"Mm, can hold me right now, if you like," Kurt says, words slurring into one another just a little, and he sounds almost hesitant, like he thinks Blaine might say no. Which is patently ridiculous, of course, because if Kurt _had_ been too drunk to have sex tonight and they'd just ended up cuddling, Blaine would have considered that a perfectly acceptable state of affairs. He'd never tell Kurt, because Kurt would laugh at him _forever_ , but it's quite possible Blaine would choose cuddling over sex, if forced to choose between the two.

"Of course. I'd love that," he says, reaching up to brush Kurt's hair away from his face.

Kurt smiles, but only for a second before the expression seems too much for him to maintain in his current soporific state and his mouth goes slack again, after he mumbles out something that Blaine thinks might have been _cuddle junkie_.

Well, if the shoe fits.

"You should drink some water, though, before you go to sleep," Blaine suggests, even if it's probably a lost cause: he can feel the way Kurt's hands have gone slack against his skin already. Still, he would prefer Kurt not to wake up tomorrow morning hungover, both for the adverse effect it might have on their chances of having as much sex as possible before Blaine's roommate gets back, and also because Kurt with a hangover is one of the scariest people on the entire planet.

"Mm," Kurt murmurs again vaguely, not opening his eyes.

"I'll get you some," Blaine says, rolling off of Kurt and getting up from the bed. Kurt barely seems to notice, just curls in on himself, sighing heavily with sleep.

Blaine goes to get the water anyway; throws the tissues in the trash while he's at it and then uses the bathroom and brushes his teeth for good measure. When he gets back to the room, Kurt has pulled the covers up and rolled over towards the wall, leaving space for Blaine to slip in behind him.

Kurt's squashed himself in tight, pillow pushed right up against the wall, but there's still not an awful lot of room to spare: they're neither of them exactly large men but Kurt is all angles and Blaine likes to sprawl and they both have a tendency towards kicking, so sharing a single bed has proven an interesting change, even if Blaine loves the closeness of it.

It's ironic, he thinks, for all the new freedoms New York has brought them, that it should limit them in ways Ohio never really did. Since they traded one for the other they have less time to themselves, and less space to be alone together, less room in the bed for the two of them.

It's a small price to pay, though, to be here, to actually, _finally_ be here, and Blaine has a growing sense of certainty that one day they'll have a bigger bed and their own space and all the time in the world.

For now, Blaine leaves the water in easy reach on the nightstand, turns off the light and slots himself into the space that Kurt has made for him.

He fits just perfectly, as it turns out.

**Author's Note:**

> [ **a/n:** Kurt's French roughly translates as: "A little, only a little. It's fine."]


End file.
